Bobby's Couch SamDean NC17
by LadyCrystalCastalia
Summary: While researching a case, the Winchesters interview a psychic who gives them an unsolicited reading and divulges secrets they would rather keep to themselves. Since the incident, a strange tension has settled between them;  see chap 1 for full summary
1. Sardines In The Can

**Bobby's Couch (Sam/Dean) NC-17**

**Author:** Lady Crystal Castalia

**Pairing:** Sam/Dean

**Rating: **NC-17

**Spoiler****s: **Season 3 Folsom Prison Blues, Jus In Bello

**Word count****:** 8300

**Status:** _Complete_

**Genres:** Fluff, Humour, Schmoop, First time

**Warnings: **none

**Kinks:**bottom!Sammy, 'the two of them in chains'/Henricksen's kink ;) Use of endearments

**Disclaimer :** Me no own but no make red cent, you no sue.

**Author's note:** Huge thanks to the wonderful CullenJunkie for the dedicated beta work.

**Summary: **While researching a case, the Winchesters interview a psychic who gives them an unsolicited reading and divulges secrets they would rather keep to themselves. Since the incident, a strange tension has settled between them; but Dean, Doctor Let's-Pretend-None-Of-This-Ever-Happened, has no idea why. Or maybe he's just ignoring the obvious…

**PART I: SA****RDINES IN THE CAN**

They were in a police station, again.

Arrested for breaking and entering into the town's museum after hours. Not only did they not burn the tomahawk belonging to a pissed off war chief, awaken by building work on his village's burial ground, but now Mister F.B.I. himself, their personal stalker, Special Agent Victor Henricksen was on his way!

And what was more humiliating? They were in this mess because of a motion detector. A motion detector! John would roll over in his grave if he had one.

Dean looked around at his surroundings with a frustrated sigh. They had been off their game for a while, but they still managed to get the job done, so he had overlooked the problem, thinking it was just a phase, nothing major. Now they were handcuffed to tables in _Cop Land_, 5-0 headquarters and Winchester purgatory_._

Normal folk wouldn't have ignored the signs. They would have taken a leave of absence, or maybe done something as innovative as trying to get to the bottom of the issue. Not the Winchesters. Not when so many people needed saving. They kept going, with half-healed wounds, too little sleep, and now this. This…thing, hanging over their head like a Donicles, Dimacles*, whatever, some Greek guy's sword.

The…thing had happened a month ago in the course of a hunt. Damn psychics; with their piercing eyes, their detestable habit of spilling out everything they sensed, with no regard to the fact that you might want to keep some of that to yourself, and the way they took one look at him and just _knew._

Like all of her counterparts Dean had stumbled upon in the past, the one in Fort Dodge, Iowa had seen right through him. When questioned, the old crone had replied that she had nothing to do with the mysterious deaths of three desperate clients who had visited her hoping for good news about their long-estranged spouses.

She blamed a nearby witch, who had sold the deceased black magic spells in the form of harmless-looking crystal stones. The crystals were supposed to reunite them with their better halves. Only the stones were targets the witch had put on their backs to sell them as blood sacrifices so she could settle her debts with the demon that renewed her powers every decade.

The psychic had turned out to be right about the case, but that was beside the point. His issue with the nosy old bat was that before unlocking the doors of her patchouli-stink filled cave, she had started running off at the mouth like a fishwife, jabbering about things she had no business disclosing, and giving them an ill-timed reading neither had asked for.

The rusty chatterbox had grabbed Sam's hand, prattling on about love, soul mates, courage, the importance of "living your truth", and other gibberish Dean didn't understand. He found her irritating, but he still would have laughed at her words if Sam had not looked like a deer caught in the headlights a second before it was run over by a truck.

Then she had started in on him, ignoring his _"stow the tea leaves sister, unless you know if the Jayhawks are winning the season" _to rattle on about how he'd never find solace on his "dark lonely road" as long as he "closed his ears to the calling in his heart" —why did people insist on speaking to him in riddles?— and about a bunch of crap he never wanted Sam to hear about.

He had managed to shake her before she mentioned names and genders. It had been a close call, but his secret was still safe, so in true Dean Winchester fashion, he had swept the whole thing under the rug, hoping they could put the incident behind them.

Unfortunately, a strange discomfort had settled between them since that day. It felt like nervousness and confusion glazed with a sticky layer of shame. It made them absent-minded and forgetful in everyday life, and walking disasters on hunts. It made Dean's head spin with thoughts he refused to entertain, but could not seem to shut off.

It made Sam act weird, well, weird-_er_ than usual. Like the way his eyes slid down Dean's frame, when Dean came out of the shower, or was in various states of undress. The enigmatic looks Sam gave him across the table at their usual roadside diners, before staring back at his plate of rabbit food, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar when Dean looked back at him with a question mark on his face. Or the way he kept storming out, looking aggravated, wounded, or both, the second Dean started chatting up some frisky bar wench.

Dean hadn't gotten laid in five weeks because of Sam's bitch fits. Obviously Samantha was going through that time of the month… all month. But all kidding aside, Dean hated seeing his brother sad. He had taken a break from rubbing his conquests in his face, convinced that going through a dry spell was worth it, since it seemed to help Sam's mood.

Sadly he had yet to find a solution to his own problems. Ever since the grizzled fortune-teller had stirred up all the feelings he had worked so hard to push somewhere hidden, they had exploded back in his face; and now were pestering him like bees at every waking moment, buzzing the same distracting song in his ears over and over: _What if she was right? Don't you wanna find out? Coward!_

_Shut up!_ Dean screamed to himself. That is exactly what was wrong with him these days. He was obsessing over some palm reader telling him he should make a move on "his beloved" before it was too late, instead of thinking of a way to get them out of here before the _F.B.I. _showed up.

He stretched his neck to look at his brother who was on the other side of the room. When he caught his eyes, he winked at him to let him know that they would find a way to Houdini their way out of the precinct before Sam had to worry about being traded for smokes on a prison yard. Sam's frown smoothed out almost immediately and he nodded with a small smile, encouraged and slightly relieved by his brother's apparent confidence.

"You need to use the bathroom, Winchester?"

Dean looked up at the officer and replied "Yes", automatically. If he had learned anything from his numerous arrests, it was that this was his last chance to smuggle in the makeshift lock pick he was hiding in the hem of his jeans.

"We're keeping you here 'til the Feds arrive."

As soon as the door was slammed behind them, the career fugitives looked around and quickly assessed the situation. The good news: they were in an empty interrogation room, not a holding cell, so there were no bars on the window; the perks of being booked in a town too small to have enough space to properly house all its troublemakers. The bad news…

They took a step in different directions and groaned. They were chained by the waist and hands so tight, they were bound to hit the dirt if they didn't coordinate their moves together.

"Let's try and sit down." Sam suggested.

"We're not sitting down! I'm thinking of a plan B."

"Plan B? What's your plan A, Dean? Oh, never mind. I'm not staying on my feet for hours. It'll be easier to strategize once we're _sitting down_."

Dean clenched his teeth. He hated that 'sensible-grown-up-talking-to-a-rowdy-kid' tone Sam used on him when he was freaking out on an airplane, or…well, now.

"Nyah, nyah, nyah." he muttered petulantly. Could Sam not see this was not going to be possible? The kid could be such a know-it-all pain in the ass. He should really grow the cojones to just tell him, _"no, not happening, no way, and that's that!"_ Eh, maybe tomorrow he would fight that battle. "How are we supposed to sit, we're practically chained face to face."

Sam sighed. "Come on, let's just… get to the bench. We'll figure it out. Please?"

Why the little… did he use them on him on purpose? The 'don't kick me out in the cold, I'm so cute and hungry; woof!' eyes?

"Dean? On three. One…"

Of course he did. Puppy dog eyes always won.

"Two..."

They shuffled toward the bench, bent their knees and...

"Three!"

"Dammit!"

Sam was sitting down but Dean was leaning on his hip, the tip of his boots scraping the floor as he tried to recover his balance.

"I told you, we can't both sit down!"

"Alright. Um…I have an idea. I'm going to lean back so you can get on top and…"

"I'm not sitting on your lap!"

"Dean, come on. I'm not seeing another option here."

"_You _sit on my lap."

"We'd have to start over, Dean, and I'm already on the bench! And you're always telling me that I'm so heavy. And I'm…"

"If you say taller Sam, I'll kick your ass."

"Okay you're short." Sam snapped to distract his brother, knowing the words made him crazy, while he leaned back, forcing Dean to slide on top of him.

"I'm not short." Dean gnarled. "I will have you know, that I'm quite tall. You're… you're the overgrown..."

Sam pulled himself up without missing a beat. "Sit down Dean." he instructed, knowing his brother had no other choice but to cooperate at this point.

Recalcitrant but out of options, Dean moved, placing both his legs around his brother's waist. "Damn Gigantor." he grumbled while Sam chuckled, very happy with himself. _The devious little... _He quickly lost his train of thought when a puff of moist breath warmed his cheek.

Sam cleared his throat. Their faces were so close…what was he saying about strategizing again, and good God, was it getting hot in here? He kept moving his hands, trying to hide the tent forming in his pants, making the chains rattle between them. He couldn't believe this was happening, here.

"Sammy, stop fidgeting, you're slicing my wrists."

"Oh, sorry."

Sam moved his head and bumped into Dean's nose.

"Ow!"

"S… sorry."

"I knew this was a bad idea! We're like sardines in a can. Only there's no oil to help us slip out of these…"

'Sardines in a can' was possibly one of the stinkiest, unsexisest thing Dean had ever thought about, and somehow his brain morphed the unsavory image into a picture of the two of them, naked and sliding all over each other, dripping with that fancy massage oil Sam hid under his bed —the little pervert thought he was so smart, but every time Dean smelled that

sweet almond scent, he knew what naughty activities Sam had been up to in his absence—. Dean got so hard so fast, he felt his upstairs brain shrink as blood was rushing south.

"Dean?"

"How the hell are we supposed to get out of here, Sammy?"

* Damocles sword

_Part I__I – Saved By The Pin_


	2. Saved By The Pin

**PART ****II: SAVED BY THE PIN**

"Dean, can I lean against you? My back hurts…"

Dean looked at his brother's reddened cheek. He would have teased Sam about it if his own famished cock was not trying to tear through his jeans, thinking the lean period was finally over. Actually, his back was starting to hurt as well. If they leaned against each other, they could take some pressure off their spines. "Right shoulder." he decided.

Sam nodded and his mouth rubbed against his brother's jaw.

"Sammy! Less head jerking, _please_."

"Oh…right."

"On three…"

Five minutes later they were in the same position, too damn close, their heads resting on each other's shoulders, breathing each other in and tickling each other's necks every time they breathed out. Oh, the thought of getting up had crossed their minds a good million of times; but choreographing that pasodoble was going to a bitch, and there was also the matter of those pesky hard-ons, which would die on their own, hopefully, soon… when they finally got the memo that nothing was happening here.

"_I should have cleaned the pipes…"_ Dean thought silently. It was safe to say that luck was not on their side, but what else was new? He had hidden the safety pin he carried inside his jeans in his hair while he was in the restroom. But he had heard it drop when the officer had manhandled him into the interrogation room. The damn thing would have held like a barrette in Sam's longer locks.

He turned his head on the opposite side, unable to stand it anymore. Why did Sam smell like some kind of tasty, mouthwatering dessert? Must be that conditioner he slapped on his mop to keep it shinny and soft. Not that he had noticed or anything. Oh God, was he really having a conversation with himself about Sam's hair? Maybe he should think about pie.

"Dean, stop poking me."

"Shut up!" Yeah maybe he should stop trying to imagine what Sam's nipples would taste like, slathered with cherry pie filling.

"I said stop poking me. What's that in your hair?"

"What?"

"Is… is that a pin?"

"It's still in there?"

"Did you just forget you had it!" Sam's voice went up, reaching that octave, that screechy, _"why do I have such an idiot for a brother"_ range that gave Dean migraine and made him shudder.

"That was my plan A! I thought I heard it drop in the hallway when the officer roughed me up. Maybe it was just his keychain."

"Roughed you up?"

"I may have said something about him being Henricksen's bitch."

"Dean…"

"Yeah, yeah. Make yourself useful and try to take it out with your teeth. Don't drop it!"

Sam let out his trademark weary sigh and got to work. He ate a hair or two, coughed it out, licked and bit Dean's ear more times that he could count, all as he was trying to get the makeshift lock pick out. The little piece of metal was twisted in a knot, and after hearing "careful with the merchandise Sasquatch!" one time too many, he decided to yank it out, no warning.

"Ow, bitch! I better not have a bald spot there!" Dean's scalp stung and he was itching to rub it but he couldn't.

"Dean, will you focus please? We have to pull it open and I'm gonna keep it in my mouth to make sure it doesn't slip. Raise your hands on three."

They both did and Sam went about the delicate task of untwisted the safety pin with what little mobility two pairs of large hands cuffed together afforded. Then, tired of fiddling with it, he pushed the unfolded piece of metal between Dean's teeth with his tongue. Sam spent the rest of the time trying to will his cock back to sleep, after it had been brutally awakened by the near kiss, while Dean wrestled with the bent wire to unlock their cuffs.

Sweaty, out of breath, and finally free, they looked at each other one last time before sliding off one another. Dean landed on the floor with a thud and when Sam tried to help him up, his voice had lost its usual bite when he moaned, "Dude, get off me."

* * *

"I need a drink." Dean announced after throwing his jacket over a chair in the kitchen.

"Hear, hear." Sam replied.

After their escape from the police station, they had raced to the Impala and put the town in their rearview mirror. Bobby had called when they were an hour into their trip and told them he was travelling to help a lady friend of his in Glenwood, Minnesota. He invited them to crash at his place for the week. Dean explained a shorter, g-rated version of their little stint in 'jail' and Bobby promised he would send hunters in the area to finish the museum job and ordered them to "take a damn break" before they sleepwalked their way into more trouble.

Now they were safely holed up in Bobby's house after hours on the road, exhausted and still reeling from what each secretly referred to as the "bench incident". They opened a bottle of Jack and crashed on the couch, hoping booze and a rerun of the _Night Of The Living Dead_ would help erase the memory of their cocks sword fighting through their jeans as they sat on top of each other, hot, bothered and squeezed together like sausages in a box…

"Dean, can I have more?"

"Sure man."

Dean poured more booze in Sam's empty glass and filled his own for a second time. Yep, any second now, his cock was going to get the memo. Nothing was happening on this couch either.

_Part II__I - Rockin' On A Singer's Couch_


	3. Rockin' On A Singer's Couch

**PART I****II: ROCKIN' ON A ON SINGER'S COUCH**

Sam leaned against the window. His teeth sank in his bottom lip and he gazed at his brother who was working on a car in the yard. A client had brought it in asking for Bobby's help. Dean had decided to take care of it; and for the third day straight, he was topless, his chest and arms gleaming under the summer sun.

"_Your lover awaits you."_

The clairvoyant's words rang in his ears for the hundredth time. The kind and chatty woman had taken his hand, looked straight into his eyes, and answered every question he had been asking himself for years. According to her, Dean would welcome him with open arms if he knew how Sam felt. But so far, his attempts at creating an intimacy that went beyond fraternal closeness had gone unnoticed. Perhaps they were too subtle, or maybe the sad truth was that Dean didn't feel the same. The medium had been right about everything else, maybe he just needed to be more aggressive.

Sadly, he could not push past the fear of what might happen if she was mistaken. He did not want to jeopardize the bond they already had by being reckless. Because really, who was he kidding? How could he believe for a second that he could have it all? When had things ever gone so well in a Winchester's life?

He sighed, went to grab a beer in the fridge and walked out of the house and into the yard. If he was too timorous to take a risk, he could at least make sure his brother didn't die of thirst under the scorching sun. He spotted Dean, crouched down by a tire.

"How's the car coming along?"

Dean turned toward him and replied, "Almost ready. All the heavy work's done. There's just some minor tweaking left to do under the hood."

"So it's okay if you have a beer on your break."

"Who says I'm on break?"

"I do. You've been working for more than an hour."

Dean stood up straight. He offered a slow smile and teased with a lazy drawl, "Taking care of me, little brother?"

Sam lowered his eyes timidly. Then his lips curved into a suggestive smile and he gave Dean a meaningful look, handing him the beer and replying with a tone laden with innuendos, "Someone has to."

Dean's fingers lingered over Sam's when he wrapped them around the bottle. "Thanks Sammy." he whispered, unable to take his eyes off his brother until he felt the sharp bite of the cold glass in his hand. He raised the bottle to his lips and started drinking greedily, not realizing how thirsty he was until the cold amber liquid sloshed over his tongue. He closed his eyes and kept gulping down, feeling a pleasant chill spread through his chest. He finally pulled the beer from his lips and let out a deep, satisfied, open-mouthed sigh.

Only then did he remember that Sam was still staring at him. He felt oddly naked, suddenly as hot as if he had never taken a sip and he rubbed the bottle over his chest, trying to quench the fire rising within him.

When Sam licked his lips, Dean felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs. His mind scrambled to come up with something that would lighten the mood. Seriously, Sam's lips were probably just dry, but throwing in a joke would turn his expression from…whatever this was, to his trademark annoyedheadshake-eyeroll-heavysigh combo without fail, and Dean would feel safe again. It was difficult to conjure up an idea when Sam was looking at him like… was it how hungry tree huggers looked at a fat slice of organic carrot cake?

Dean took a moment to consider that Sam might just be bored prowling around that big house all by himself, surrounded by dust and crumbly books while Dean stayed outside banging on a car, and he was looking for company. Truth be told, it was getting lonely in the yard, and Dean would not mind some together time with his brother after he was done with the repairs.

"I hear _Raiders III_ is out in theaters. We could go see it, or something else if you prefer."

Sam beamed. "_Raiders III_ is fine."

Dean narrowed his eyes. Sometimes he could swear there was something there. He quickly reminded himself that the come-hither glint he detected in the hazel orbs was just a figment of his imagination. Sam would never look at him with that kind of longing. He had made peace with that fact a long time ago. If sitting in a dark room sharing butter popcorn, twizzlers and a large coke was the closest he got to being out on a date with his "chosen" —damn that riddle-speaking false prophet—, he would take it.

"I finish this and we take off in two hours?"

"I'll be waiting." Sam gave him another ambiguous smile and slowly turned around.

_Dontlookathim. Dontlookathim. Dontlookathim. _Dean pleaded with himself, but he couldn't help staring at Sam as he walked back into the house. The boy was sex on legs and he would trade his beer for that tall drink of water in a second.

Sam turned one last time, catching him red-handed gawking at his body like some love-struck teenager or worse, some creepy older sibling, and all he could do was wave his beer with a stiff smile before hanging his head the instant Sam disappeared from view.

Dean knocked his forehead with the bottle and mumbled derisively, "Tall drink of water?" He really needed to get laid before his lone surviving brain cell turned to mush.

Inside the house, Sam moved to the living-room. He could still feel the intense gaze, like Dean was undressing him with his eyes. Panting softly, and he let himself topple onto the couch, thinking about his brother's lips pursed around the bottle as he swallowed slowly, looking for all the world like he was lost in rapture. He pressed the heel of his palm against his crotch, muffling a whimper. He really needed to clean the pipes before he did something stupid.

* * *

The power was out and there was nothing to do. Fortunately they had plenty to talk about, between the movie's twist ending and the game they had watched at the _Blue Balls Sports Bar _around a shared plate of spicy Buffalo wings dipped in blue cheese.

The living-room was illuminated with the warm glow from candles scattered on the tables. The soothing atmosphere it created was a haven against the thunder that boomed angrily outside.

A particularly loud crackling lightening strike interrupted their conversation. Dean turned his head, his eyes following the bright flashes of light slicing through the air. When he looked back at his brother, Sam was draped over his lap.

"Hey!"

"Felt like lying down."

"Why do you get to lie down?"

"'Cause I'm the youngest."

"Snot nosed brat."

"It's not my fault you can never say no to me."

"Is that so?"

"Name one time."

"Well there was that time in… or the time when…" Dean scratched his head. "I'm thinking."

"I rest my case." Sam said with a sly grin, settling the issue.

He rolled onto his side, turning his back on Dean, and exhaled contently. This was nice. All that was missing was his brother's hands around his waist. He might just fall asleep here.

"You're not sleeping are you?"

Sam opened his eyes. "No."

"Eh do you think there's something going on between Bobby and that lady in Glenwood? Maybe he went there to play 'plumber at the door'?"

"You're confusing reality with porn again and now that image's seared in my brain."

"Yeah…" Dean continued, indifferent to Sam's trauma, his voice taking that unmistakable draggy, raspy, slow texture it got when his mind slumped into the gutter. "I'd like some Casa Erotica. Too bad Bobby doesn't have Pay-per-view."

"I'd prefer an informative documentary about ancient civilizations, thank you."

"Liar. You know, I know, you know you like them. Which is your favorite?"

"We are not talking about Casa Erotica." Sam replied, resisting the smile that was tugging at his lips.

"Don't be such a prude. Okay I'll start. I like the first one. Classic; with Fanny Harding." Dean whistled. "Nice ass."

Dean could feel the silent giggle that was shaking the torso resting atop his thighs. He pinched a non-existent love handle under his brother's shirt and murmured in a tone encouraging confidence, "Come on, you can tell me."

Sam pressed his cheek against the denim and scrunched up his eyes. He was going to regret this… "Number 6."

"You lil' perv. Isn't that the one where Lola Lucchesi shows up at this board meeting wearing a black trench coat, gets nailed non-stop, and get sprayed with tons of …"

"I've seen it Dean!" Sam interjected, slightly flustered. He knew he should have kept his mouth shut.

Dean looked at his brother with a little smirk. Casa Erotica number 6. He was only partially surprised that sweet little Sammy's favorite title was the raunchiest in the collection to date. He had always known that pure fire burnt beneath the shy exterior.

He let the tip of his fingers ghost over a shimmering streak of hair, mesmerized by way the brown locks captured the gold of the flames flickering around them. He thought of the lucky few who got to cling to them while they shouted the Lord's name in blasphemy, in the heat of carnal passion. He would never be one of them, but he get could try to unveil Sam's deepest most intimate secrets to satisfy his curiosity. "So what did you like the most?" he asked. "Let's play 'what do you like the most'. Positions. Go."

"What are you twelve? This isn't a slumber party for frustrated virgins."

"Don't be a downer. Okay I'll go first, chicken. Doggie style. What can I say I'm an ass man."

Sam shook his head. "You're an everything-man, Dean."

"True." Dean laughed.

"And I'm not answering."

"Pff, you really know how to have fun grandma. Let me guess. Missionary! Staring in her eyes and reciting poetry while you rock her to sleep?"

"I'm not playing anymore if you're going make fun of me."

"Kinks. Go."

"Ugh, I don't think so, Dean."

"Okay something less hardcore for blushing Sammy over here. Kisses. Where?"

"Uh, lips?"

"Boring."

Sam laughed. He slid his hand under his cheek and answered, "Under the ear. Gives me chills."

"You naughty boy…"

"You?"

"Neck. Gets me every time."

"Ever done it outdoors? I'm sure you have, where haven't you done it?"

"Are you calling me easy? I'm offended! Ah screw it, in some back alley behind a porn theater. There were even a couple of hookers watching…"

"Dean!" Sam turned and gave him an indignant look.

"What? You asked. You?"

"Do balconies and pools count?"

"Well Sam Winchester…" Dean pinched his brother's cheek.

"Shut up." Sam playfully pushed the hand away. "It's not because you think I'm an old maid that I don't do anything."

"I see that. Don't you miss it sometimes?"

Sam rolled onto his back, looking up at his brother. "I don't understand."

"I mean it's been a while. A long while."

"I like it to mean something. I want someone who means something to me. And I want to mean something to them."

Dean nodded with respect. "You're right. You deserve no less."

"You too, Dean."

"I'm not like you."

"Didn't it feel different with Cassie?"

"Sure. I'm aware it's more intense and everything. Spiritual ecstasy and whatever. In the end what does it get you but a broken heart? Quick and dirty, anonymous, no strings, no illusions, that works for me."

Sam pulled himself up when he heard the twinge of pain someone else would have missed. His legs still stretched over the couch, he placed his elbow on the arm-rest and twisted his body toward his brother.

"Maybe you haven't found the right person yet?" he asked a little sadly, knowing he could make Dean happy if he was only given the chance.

"I don't believe in fairy tales, Sammy."

"But, don't you think you could love someone with all your heart, more than anything, more than life itself?"

"Yeah Sammy." Dean replied as if it was obvious, although his gaze was unsure. "You're the only one I love like that. That's enough for me."

"Dean…"

Dean cleared his throat and looked away. "Must be hard for you." he said, taking the focus away from himself.

"What?" Sam asked, a little thrown.

"Jess was that person for you." _Smooth._ Dean thought, not too proud of his tactics. _Bring up the sweet cookie-baking college girl who fried on the ceiling to derail the conversation. Classy._

But Sam had seen a glimpse of something he had been searching for and he wasn't letting Dean pirouette his way out of it. He put the train back on tracks.

"I loved Jess, but there was always someone I loved more than her."

Undeterred by Dean's silence, he persisted, "Don't you want to know who that is?"

He slid his palm over his brother's cheek. He could see the fear in Dean's eyes as he looked down but pressed forward, "I want you to look at me and say it again; what you said before. Then I'll tell you all about him."

"Sammy, you know that already." Dean protested, trying to move from the caress.

But Sam swiped his thumb over his cheekbone and insisted, "I'd really like to hear it again." Sam needed to know he wasn't dreaming, he had to be sure what he saw as a sign was not just wishful thinking.

Accepting with a resigned sigh, Dean raised his head and said, "No one, and nothing, means more to me than you. Happy?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded and he let his hand slide down Dean's neck all the way down to his chest. "Now let me tell you about him."

"Sam…" Dean warned.

Sam brushed his fingers over his mouth to silence him and continued, "You know, he'd rather get shot in the knee than have to endure an emotional moment. I think it's because he doesn't like to show his vulnerable side, although he makes an exception for me once in a while. He's brave, smart, loyal to a fault, and he'd take a bullet for me." His fingers skimmed over the light stubble and his voice hitched. "I'm crazy about him, and if he doesn't get a clue and…"

Dean crashed their lips together before he could finish the sentence. Threading his fingers through Sam's hair, he cradled the back of his head and poured his soul in a deep, hungry kiss that left them both breathless. Then he drew Sam into his chest and buried his face in Sam's hair, inhaling his scent in shallow breaths. He felt weak at the tenderness that invaded his chest when Sam wound his arms around him.

"Do you always have to be so dramatic?" he asked, his voice betraying all the emotions he had been trying to hide.

Sam nuzzled his neck. "I wouldn't have to if you weren't so damn stubborn." He pulled back to look at his brother. "A guy could wait forever for you to take a hint."

Dean gave a little crooked smile. "Sorry. I guess I'm a little slow on the uptake. I thought it was all in my head, that you could never…"

Sam's heart ached for his brother, for everything that had to happen to convince the best man he ever knew that he wasn't worthy of love. He pledged to himself that he would mend those wounds and make Dean forget the times Sam himself had turned from him, leaving him feeling like he was disposable, discarded, and unloved. He molded his palm to the curve of his brother's cheek.

"I really do love you, Dean." he said softly.

"I know Sammy." Dean reassured, pressing his lips to his and slipping an arm under his knees to pull him closer into his lap. "I know."

He thrust his tongue inside the sweet mouth and started unbuttoning Sam's shirt, his movements slow; he needed, to give his brother the chance to push him away whenever he wanted. He grazed his nails over the exposed nipple, catching Sam's sighs between his lips as he dragged the back of his fingers over hardened bud. He let his hand slide lower, ever so slowly, and Sam squirmed against him clinging to his neck, needing more.

Years of simmering sexual tension exacerbated in the last few weeks by the words of well-meaning oracle, finally erupted between them. Dean pushed Sam's shoulders down on the couch so he could whip his shirt over his head. Questions about how far they could go died on his lips when he saw Sam shuck off his jeans and wiggle out of his underwear. He did the same and kneeled between his brother's legs.

Sam pulled himself up on his elbows, desire flaring in his eyes. He raked his teeth languidly over his bottom lip, feeling a thrill of power at the thought of how easily he could arouse his brother. He reached up, closed his fist around the erected member and tugged slightly to pull Dean down.

He threw an arm around Dean's broad shoulders and teasingly traced the outline of his full lips with his tongue. Sam toyed with the hard length pulsing between his fingers, nestled the tip at his entrance and started gyrating his hips, rubbing the inside of his thighs against Dean's sides as he moved.

A whimper escaped Dean's mouth and tremors traveled down his spine. He pushed forward, sliding his cock over the puckered rim, then backed away with a pained moan, trembling with the effort. He wanted nothing more than to spread Sam wide and fuck him through the couch until he blacked out, but he needed time to let some of the lust fogging his mind mist out of his ears, and give Sam a moment of lucidity to decide if was to take this thing all the way past the point of no return.

"Let's take this party upstairs." he suggested, holding his hand out.

Sam replied by pulling on his wrist until their mouths met, locking in a long, lingering kiss.

"Or not." Dean agreed with a smile.

He pushed himself up, grabbed the nearest candle, and went to the kitchen where he poured some oil in a cup. He walked back to the couch, kneeled over Sam, and pressed his slippery fingers inside the crease of his ass, rubbing them around the small ring.

"Too bad we don't have that nice little massage oil of yours." he whispered.

Sam's eyes widened and his mouth gaped open. Dean pushed a finger inside while Sam was still wondering how his brother had known about the massage oil.

"I can't tell you how many times I've jerked off in the shower, thinking of what you were doing with it."

"Dean…"

"Did you ever think of me?" Dean kissed him under the ear, feeling Sam's whole body shake under his lips.

"Oh…" Sam's head dropped to the side.

"Tell me. Ever came saying my name?"

"All the time." Sam confessed, his back arching when Dean's finger found his pleasure spot. "Mmm…"

"I'd love to flip you over, pull you up on your knees, spread some on back, your ass, and fuck you for hours…"

Sam bit his lip, moaning at the erotic picture and at the sensations ravaging his body.

Dean licked down his neck, swirled his tongue over one nipple, then the other, before coming back up to steal a kiss, all while his fingers slid around the tight hole, opening it up gently.

He could feel Sam's cock leaking all over his stomach as he moved, leaving a trail of pre-cum across his flesh. He lowered himself and lapped at pearly beads dripping from the slit. Then he slid his lips over the head, and grasping the undulating hips, he sucked the thick shaft in and out of his mouth until Sam couldn't take anymore.

"Dean…"

Sam didn't have to say more when it got to be too much. Dean responded to the plea in his voice, pulling himself up to slick his cock with a couple of quick strokes. He leaned down and pushed himself into the lubricated opening. Sam stiffened at first, his hands clasping around the straining biceps, but he quickly relaxed and Dean plunged deeper, slowly driving his cock in all the way to his balls.

He brushed his lips across Sam's and started moving with slow thrusts. He could feel feather fingers painting his skin with light, the tight heat gripping his heart as well as his cock. It was like being drenched in a sweet honey that softened the sharp edges, quietly filled the cracks in his soul and soothed long forgotten if Sammy wasn't right, he had not been doing it with the right people.

Sam slid his hands away from his lover's body to curl them over the armrest. One leg resting on the back of the couch and the other stretched over the coffee table. Sam let himself sink into pleasure, his eyelids falling helplessly shut as his brother reamed him in a slow, steady rhythm.

Dean rocked back and forth between the snug walls, shoving as deep as he could. Dean felt his orgasm building, the sweet pleasure of it pooling in his gut urging him forward. The force of his thrusts built and he rammed into the sensitive bundle of nerves, making Sam quake under the sharp thrust.

Sam threw his arms around Dean to anchor himself. He dug his fingers into Dean's back and let out a sob, overwhelmed with the pleasure. It was turbulent and peaceful, sinful yet so pure. In his cursed, haunted life, nothing had ever felt so right, and he was never giving it up as long as he lived.

Dean slammed harder into him, pounding like he wanted to fuse them into one flesh. He clutched Sam's thick locks, holding on to his brother who was writhing beneath him, clamping his dick like a vice every time he bucked his hips.

"Sammy…"

Sam replied with a moan. He started jerking his cock, begging for more. The harder Dean thrust the more he wanted. They were making so much noise, but they didn't care because the whole house was theirs. His head rolled to the side and he caught a glimpse of their shadows, oversized silhouettes reflecting their passionate mating on the wall, before his brother recaptured his attention with a kiss.

The thrusts became rougher, and their movements so frantic that Sam had to break the kiss to gasp for breath. His cock throbbed between his fingers and waves of pleasure exploded inside and out of him. His muscles tightened and he cried out, his body jerking under Dean while his brother shot streams of cum inside him with a growl.

Sam head fell back on the cushion and he opened his eyes slowly, feeling like he had melted into the couch under him. He watched his brother grab a bottle they had forgotten on the floor when the lights had gone out. Dean drank, and lowered it to Sam's mouth. Sam swallowed the beer; it was warm and flat, but after their vigorous workout, as welcome as rain in the desert. When he was done, Dean bent down to lick away the few droplets that had run down Sam's chin. He pressed a kiss to Sam's mouth, used his t-shirt to clean them both, and pulled Sam into his arms.

"Yeah, totally worth the wait." Sam commented breathlessly.

They exchanged a knowing glance and Dean let his hand slide down Sam's back, straying low until he was cupping the smooth skin of the firmly rounded cheek. His brother might think he was an everything-man but he always had a weakness for Sam's ass. Speaking of… "I can't believe we just did it on Bobby's couch."

"Poor Bobby would have a heart attack if he saw us here."

"Shoot us, then salt-and-burn the thing." Dean joked. "Good thing he's due back tomorrow night. We'll clean it up and it'll be as good as new. If you could call anything in this house new."

They shared a chuckle, one last chaste peck, and started to doze off, until Dean remembered something.

"Sammy move a little."

"No." Sam protested sleepily. "I'm comfy right here."

"You're not sleeping with your ass facing the door."

"Mm, not this again Dean. I'm a big boy now."

Instead of arguing, Dean got up, pushed his brother against the back of the couch and lay down behind him. It was a tight fit, but they didn't need a lot of room. He pressed himself against Sam's back and slid his arm around his waist, holding him close.

A small smile curved Sam's lips. He leaned into the embrace and wove their fingers together. Lucky him; he had a bodyguard, brother, lover and "soul mate" all wrapped into one fine package. Maybe good things did happen to Winchesters.

_Part I__V – Break It, Buy It, And Keep On Playin'_


	4. Break It, Buy It, And Keep On Playin'

**PART I****V: BREAK IT, BUY IT, AND KEEP ON PLAYIN'**

They were awakened by a loud noise. They opened their eyes and squinted, blinded by the morning sun. Was that, country music? They jumped and looked at each other, each man's mind screaming _No, no, no, no, no, it can't be, can't be!_

"Wake up idjits! Breakfast ain't going to make itself."

Sam made a throaty, hiccup-like sound. He looked so dismayed that Dean tried to take his hand to comfort him, but Sam leapt to his feet and started gathering his clothes.

"Bobby's back!" he whispered agitatedly.

"Thank you Captain Obvious. And you wanted to stay downstairs!"

Sam glowered at Dean and tossed a shoe at his head.

"And tonight, _get a room_!" Bobby shouted; by the sound of his boots they could tell he was walking up the stairs. "I don't want to see your hairy legs spread all over my damn couch every time I come down to get a beer. Are you boys trying to kill me? And does 'you break it, you buy it' ring a bell? I hope it does 'cause you two owe me a new couch and a pair of eyeballs to replace the ones I'm going to gouge out of my skull! Throw in a damn set of ears while you're at it!"

Dean gulped, panic finally settling in his chest. He twisted himself into his jeans and plucked his dirty t-shirt off a lampshade, moaning when the cup of oil spilled onto the floor. "Babe," he whined to Sam, "I can't find my underwear."

Sam stopped and looked at his brother. The word had slipped from his mouth with such ease, he wondered if Dean was even aware he had said it. His heart fluttered in his chest and a tender smile bloomed across his face, erasing the anxiety that hardened his features. Thankfully Dean was too busy to notice how ridiculously pleased he was. Hecrouched next to him to help him look. When Bobby yelled from the upper floor, "Try the bottom of the stairs; idjits!" Sam got up so fast he knocked the empty bottle of beer into the wall with such force that it shattered, sending glass shards all over the living room floor.

The brothers looked at the pair of black boxer-briefs laying by the stairs, the mess around them, and each other faces, in that order.

"We are so screwed" they concluded in chorus.

* * *

Bobby smiled and waved the two young men as the Impala pulled out of the salvage yard. When he had returned to his house in the middle of the storm to find the Winchester boys rutting on his couch and making as much of a ruckus as the thunder outside, his first thought after _"I should have stayed in Glenwood", _had been _"took them long enough"_.

They already bickered like an old married couple and had proven time and time again that they were unable to live without each other. It was only a matter of time until their suspiciously intense relationship took on a physical dimension; if a couch had to be sacrificed in the process, it was a small price to pay.

His kitchen was stock full of beer and liquor. His living-room had been scrubbed clean. The boys had even bought a couch. Well, the sugar daddy whose name was on Dean's credit card had footed the bill. He was actually kidding about the 'break it, buy it' thing, but they felt so bad for scarring him emotionally that he had let them lug a brand-spanking-new couch straight from the showroom into his living room.

He remembered coming downstairs the morning after the storm to find them waiting in the kitchen, expecting him to tear them a new hole. Sam was stuttering apologies, and Dean, even if he looked ready to take a beating, was standing in front of his partner in crime, his limbs rigid, his jaw determined, and his eyes warning: _you do what you want with me, but don't you dare make him cry. _

He had sat at the table in front of a pile of pancakes and a plate of sausage and eggs. He had coughed to hide a snicker when he realized that they had spiked his coffee with something strong, probably to calm him down, and he had finally burst into laughter, saying, "About damn time you kids got this show on the road!"

He had tossed pancakes onto their empty plates and yelled, "Now sit down and eat, boys! Not another word about this, I'm having enough trouble forgetting the sight Dean's bare ass as it is." before they finally cracked a smile, the relief, gratitude, and love on their faces so heartwarming, he had drained his mug and asked for another cup of "special coffee" just to watch them laugh.

* * *

Sam slid close to his brother. He peppered his neck with kisses, chuckling when Dean nearly swerved into the wrong lane. "Watch the road, Hamilton." he smirked.

Dean pinched his lips and gripped the wheel, his knuckles turning white. _Oh the devious, sexy little bitch… The things he was going to do to him when he got him alone. _"Sammy?"

"Yeah?" Sam slid a hand between Dean's thighs.

"Ever had someone eat food off you? You know like human sushi…"

"Nantaimori."

"Yeah whatever, but with desserts."

"Alright. We'll stop at a bakery, buy a nice pie before we check into the motel. How's that?"

Dean gave him a wide, lusty grin and Sam shook his head, wondering how someone could look so oversexed and so childlike at the same time.

"We'll also get two bottles of almond massage oil." he added. "I'm all out. Happy?"

"Where have you been all my life?"

"Right under your nose. How you ever got laid with those lame pick up lines is a mystery to me."

"It's 'cause I'm handsome; and a joy to be around."

Sam rolled his eyes and he squeezed his brother's bulging erection; it was the quickest way to shut the handsome bastard up. Dean's cock twitched in his palms, dying for attention. It had been five days since the "couch incident". They had stayed a little longer than planned at Bobby's, and decided they were not going to subject him to any more ear splitting sounds and brain shattering imagery. They had limited themselves to making out under their blanket at night like a pair of horny teenagers.

"Sam?"

"Mm?"

"Places."

Sam didn't mind playing this game anymore. Especially since everybody won, every time. "Shoot."

"Ever done in the backseat of a car?"

"Ask me again after we park the Impala..."

The tires screeched and Sam jolted in his seat.

"Dean! What, do you think you're doi..?"

"Get your sweet ass in the backseat now, Sam."

"…Why yes sir…" Sam breathed, batting his eyelashes in mock obedience.

Dean smiled. Things were looking way up. He had his car, his other baby ready to get frisky in her back seat, his surrogate's father's blessing, and a case in Illinois. All he had left to do to be at peace with the world was swing by Fort Dodge, Iowa, to leave the sweet old palm reader a fruit basket.

She would probably try to knock him down with a frying pan after mind reading the words he had used to describe her in his desperate hours, but no matter how heated things got, he trusted Sammy and his puppy dog eyes to save the day.

In the meantime, he had a smoking hot babe to initiate to the pleasures of car sex. He climbed over the back seat.

"Ready for me, beloved?"

Sam smiled fondly. He should be giving Dean a hard time for using words only a seventy-plus year old psychic with a flair for the dramatic could get away with, but he knew Dean understood that Sam loved hearing those words just as much as Dean loved saying them.

So he slid his pants down, slowly revealing naked skin unencumbered by underwear, much to Dean's surprised and appreciative eyes, and he pulled his brother by the collar, planting a toe curling kiss on his plumps lips before whispering, "Always, lover."

La Fin


End file.
